More Sights, Sounds and Senses
Keith Nightingale
The smell of the issue facility as you move through. There is a lot of old stuff here.
Your first night in country. Will you know the last?
The first smell of a ville. Look at the teeth and the toes. No diapers.
The blue cloud of exhaust from the cyclo as it splashes through the red laterite road with 20 people hanging on.
Your first ride to work on the UH1H. Now the sky. Now the ground. Will I fall?
The last two seconds inbound. Burning grass, expended cartridges, dry colored smoke in your eyes. Can’t see anything.
The cool dirt laden hurricane from the helicopter as it leaves you. I am in combat!
The first minute on point. Will I see something before it gets me?
The first thought when you learn the answer is No.
The deep visceral unformed thought that says STOP. Something is wrong. Everyone is keyed to you. A unique form of power.
Your thoughts when the night descends for the first time. What are all those strange flashes and movements? Is he as afraid as I am?
Cigarettes actually taste great. I am smoking a lot more than I used to.
The face of the sergeant who talked to you one very bad night. Never remember the name-always the face. Wish I could.
The smell of the jungle floor when you first scrapped it away. I can’t relate to this.
First patrol. First ambush. Too many firsts.
The juices swelling up from the first cut into the can of apricots. It tastes SOOO good.
The flat snap of the bolt against an empty chamber. Should have been counting.
The dirt, twigs and water that rains down from the rotor wash of the bird dumping ammo and chow overhead.
Knowing we have to get out of here fast.
The incredible scorpion in the middle of the trail. It can’t be that big. It is.
The glistening moisture rising through the flat packed shiny mud of the high speed hard pack you just entered. Tread marks everywhere.
Your mind fighting the itches, insults and tingles all over your body as you lay in wait at the ambush. I can’t move. I can’t make a sound. Oh Shit-I want to so bad. Come on sun-hurry up…
The strange whistle of a rocket as it goes overhead.
Wow. This place had some serious shit. Glad I wasn’t here. I was before.
How small can I make myself in my pot? Try harder.
The distinct “Pong” of the first artillery marking round. WP. 400 up.
Putting your head under water when you cross the stream. So good…
The shaking of the elephant grass mound to your front. Something is on the other side. I was there an hour ago. I have the cuts to prove it. Now what? God-Please. One more night.
The sound of the Chicom grenade as it hit the tree in front of you. Can’t hurt me.
The Poof from the packet of heat tabs signaling they are dissolved. Peeling just a small piece from the Claymore. How much does it need to really work?
It didn’t hurt when doc stuffed in the IV.
The difference between a ruck with no water and ruck with full water.
Adjusting to torrential rain to where you take no notice. Your mind describing the effect of no rain, wet fatigues and soaked fatigues. You just have to put it out of your mind.
I really need to take a dump…
How fast can I load? Very fast. Proved it.
The worn wire holding my grenades to my ammo pouch. Time to change? Maybe I will use it.
Tears are salty.
The sound of a C rat opening is deafening at night.
Break squelch twice.
Everything is moving. Oh Shit!
Adrenalin is great stuff. Why are his eyes so dilated?
Boots under rain ponchos neatly arranged. Dog tags in laces makes no difference now.
My shoulders hurt so bad. Humping is a bitch… and then we die. When will we stop?
Wonder what the other guy feels?
MEDIC-UP…………
Keep talking. Look at me dammit.
I can’t speak but Doc - keep working on me. Please…..
Arranging the twelve letters in date sequence. Wrapping them all in the Prick 25 battery plastic bag.
Got the last M&M’s from the sundry pack.
The sting from constant application of bug juice. It messes up your mouth.
Why is the jungle so loud? This is crazy.
I love it when it’s close. Cordite has a distinctive smell.
Why is he smiling? He sure smells bad. Wonder what got him?
Bugs are already on his eyes.
Recovering normal breathing after the last echoes go to silence.
Your last hump.
I hate the firebase. The green is a lot better. No chicken-shit.
2-4-D burns good.
The hard clunk of a machete when it hits the tree at a bad angle.
My fingers are all black from the sweat through the glove. My tips look like they have been underwater.
The irregular line of white salt when the shirt begins to dry.
They sure have black toenails. Good newbee haircuts. Fresh unit.
The great emotional comfort when the ACAV’s park next to you. Coolers! Wow!
Birds inbound!
A glance at the partially open conex on the firebase with the bodies stacked.
Last view of the bush. The air is really cool.
Bad beer. Good steak. Buddies.
Takeoff.
Landing.
I don’t understand this place. What do I do now?
Just some peace and a hot shower. Its way too much food.
I’m a stranger.
I don’t give a damn what they say. We kicked ass. Wish Ted was here.
Flag looks different now.